


kyrie eleison

by lackadaisical



Series: Hellfire [5]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackadaisical/pseuds/lackadaisical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If they were being honest, the baby was all that could be physically between them.</p><p>But then, they were masters of lying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kyrie eleison

**Author's Note:**

> And so concludes the "Hellfire" series. Before you read the last part, I just wanted to thank everyone who has commented, left kudos, or just read these little pieces. I am extremely grateful for all of you. Anyway, enjoy, happy holidays, and may the Force be with you!

Of anyone who didn’t know, of everyone who _couldn’t_ , it was least dangerous for Poe to know. And, he did.

When she returned to the E-9, lips swollen but expression somber, shoulders set squarely, he only looked at her. And when he looked at her, he read the truth in her averted eyes, her frown.

She explained he— _Kylo Ren_ —escaped; he was badly wounded, she had him and could have finished him but hesitated, missed her chance. None of it was a lie.

But, Poe knew the truth, she didn’t know _how_ but he did.

He only nodded.

#

Three weeks dragged by and she requested leave. It was granted and Poe flew her to Coruscant. She knew he suspected what her seven days would be filled with— _who_ would occupy her time—but he did not mention it.

Rey didn’t know why Poe kept her secret, why he never breathed a word to the General or Finn or _anyone._

Poe, she guessed, was a better friend than she thought. Or, perhaps, he clung to the overly optimistic hope she was embroiled in an intricate plot to bring down Kylo Ren, to resurrect Ben Solo.

And, if the intricacies of clawing guilt, insatiable lust, and a yearning need could be considered a plot, than Poe was right.

#

Kylo, still wearing mostly black but without a helmet and— _astonishingly_ —smiling, and Rey, hair flowing free and down over her shoulders, walked the streets of Coruscant hand-in-hand. No one spared a glance for them, eyes sliding on and past them; Kylo and Rey were just another young couple in love.

They wore plain clothes, ate in local cafes, kissed in the street, slept in until noon, and stayed up late into the night. She tangled her fingers in his hair, he kissed her palms until she cried from laughter. Everything was perfect: no touch stolen, no kiss burning with guilt, no whispered word synonymous with betrayal.

They were normal; it was normal.

Normal, but wrong.

No matter how they wanted it; no matter how Rey lay awake every night—head on his chest, ear pressed over his heart—and wished time would slow, time would allow them to stay, she knew it was a fleeting dream. A lucid fantasy. Together, they were complete and whole and so unspeakably happy.

But, they were entities of the Light and Dark, children of their doctrine and servants to something so much larger than themselves. Rey knew this dream couldn’t last even as she desperately hoped.

She kissed him hungrily, wanting to study and memorize him while she still could. She touched him reverently, her fingers tracing every hard muscle, every scar, and his pale skin prickled under her tanned hands. She loved him obsessively, relishing in the too fleeting hours of wholeness, of rightness, of ease.

But, no matter how she held tight to him and refused to let go, time marched on, ripping them apart.

#

A few weeks passed.

Rey was sick every morning and couldn’t keep food down. She wondered if it was the Force punishing her, her subconscious retching, a spiritual reckoning for her actions: her lust and passions. But then General Organa pulled her aside. But then the whole Resistance knew. But then everyone was happy for her.

They assumed the father was a man she met on Coruscant which, Rey assured herself, wasn’t a lie.

Finn knew—or he _thought_ he knew—the truth. He thought it was Poe’s baby she carried. She asked for his forgiveness and he couldn’t meet her eyes when he said there was nothing to forgive.

#

Kylo reached across the great black void between them, his voice whispering to her through the echoes of the Force. The pressures of his ghostly touches, his kisses were too fleeting, too cold in comparison to their real counterparts. The impression of him warmed her cot at night but still, her fingers tried to tangle themselves into thick curls only to fall slack. But still, her hands itched for his teasing kisses on her palms. But still, her pillow was a no substitute for his chest.

The sickness passed.

Her stomach grew.

She did not tell him.

When he came to her in the night, when he distracted her with stolen interactions during the day, she had no courage to tell him. It didn’t feel right not to rest his large, limber hands on her rounded stomach. It didn’t feel right not to look him in the eyes and tell him how she was truly happy.

But then, she was busy. She still volunteered for missions until the General assigned her to the control room when she grew too large. Requesting for another week off seemed unfair, even while pregnant.

Yet, she knew—somewhere in the shadows of her conscious mind—that perhaps it was for the best she couldn’t see him. It was best for his burning, knowing eyes to be on the other side of the galaxy. She didn’t know if she met his eyes and declared herself happy, if he would believe her lie.

#

Rey was still layered in sweat.

Her hair was stringy wisps around her, a halo of jubilant exhaustion. Her face was tinted red, her breath barely recovered.

When there was a soft knock on her private cubicle of the medical ward, walled off by screens, she immediately called out: “Come in!”

Finn peered in sheepishly and, when he saw the tiny pink infant, swaddled in an orange blanket, sleeping in her arms, Rey knew he understood. The frown was confused, uncomprehending, but he finally _understood_.

“Hey,” he greeted, softly.

“Hey,” she replied, her smile small and warm.

“Can I come in?”

She nodded immediately and he came to occupy the chair at her bedside. Finn’s eyes locked onto the baby’s tiny face, his nose scrunched in sleep. After a moment, Finn asked in a whisper: “What’s his name?”

Rey stared down at the baby just as Finn did. Both wondered what the baby would mean for her, for Kylo, for the Resistance, for the First Order.

A long pause passed and then Rey answered: “Han.” Not daring to look at him, she added, “After his grandfather.” She chanced a glance.

Finn wasn’t angry; sorrow, weighty and drowning, pulled down his expression but he wasn’t angry. He nodded singularly. He expected her answer, somehow. But, his eyes were still so kind, so full of wonder as he looked down at the baby and Rey hoped the friendship between them wasn’t lost. She would have to make a conscious effort with Finn; she couldn’t allow secrets to wedge them apart.

“Will you be his guardian?” she blurted out.

Finn smiled. “Yes, of course.”

#

Rey knew she had to tell him; there would never be a _right_ time. Reaching through the Force, she gently guided Kylo’s arms into forming a cradle before placing baby Han there, mentally.

 _Your son,_ she whispered, her voice not capable of anything louder.

He stared between her and the baby, at first confused but then ecstatically happy. His smile was wide, crinkling his eyes into crescents, and Rey thought it was the first time she had ever seen him _truly_ smile. She mirrored it.

But, she felt despondency weighing down her happiness. She felt a great mourning as she watched the father and son, meeting for the first time but only in spirit. Kylo felt it too, his smile turning sad when he looked to her again.

If they were being honest, the baby was all that could be physically between them.

But then, they were masters of lying.

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone who may be curious, the titles of these works comes from the song "Hellfire" from the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Put them together, they form a desperate prayer (so to speak): "In thought, in word and deed, I confess to God Almighty that I have sinned. Lord have mercy."


End file.
